Those Nights
by LastChancetoBreathe
Summary: All it took was one shot....and all the memories in the world would not bring Soda back. not slash


The battlefield was relatively quiet, save for the cries of the wounded who could not help the sounds they made. Doctors scuttled to and fro through the mass waste of human life, trying to save those they could and leaving the dead until a later time.

I sat in the middle of this chaos, blood staining every single part of me: some of it my own, most of it the enemy's, and the remainder…..belonged to a dear friend. I glanced down at the boy who lay in my arms-for he truly was a boy, regardless of whether or not the government thought eighteen-years-olds were adults and eligible for drafting.

A spurt of anger sparked in my heart. If it hadn't been for that stupid draft, I wouldn't be here now and my friend…..the anger died out as swiftly as it had come. My friend was braver than me and he had considered it an honor to be drafted and to have the opportunity to die for his country.

I remembered how his eyes had sparkled mischievously after they had shaved his head. "Man, I don't look so tuff anymore," he'd said with a grin. "But hey, at least you can't tell that I'm a Greaser or a Soc…..my career is looking up."

A small smile crawled onto my features as I remembered all the adventures we'd had together......

_______________________________________________________________________________

"The broads are gonna totally dig this new battle wound, don't cha think? It makes me look tuff." Soda cocked an eyebrow as he stared at himself in the mirror, examining a bruise he had received in a scuffle with a couple of Socs. Said bruise was large and ugly, marring the whole left side of his handsome face.

"Nah, they'll finally come over to me 'cause they'll see you really ain't that good-lookin'," I teased.

"Ha! You don't have my charm and that's more than half of the reason why they come to me in the first place." He dashed out of the room just in time to avoid the pillow I sent flying after him.

His laughter echoed down the hall…..

________________________________________________________________________________

I came into the Curtis' home late that tragic night. The usually noisy house was silent. I peered into the living room and found Sodapop sitting on the couch all alone, his knees pulled up to his chest. His puppy dog brown eyes stared straight ahead, looking so lost.

"Soda?" I asked softly.

He jumped and stared at me, startled. Once he recognized me, he relaxed. "Steve."

"Hey buddy, what's wrong?" I came further into the room and sat down beside him.

He chewed on his bottom lip for a while. My concern skyrocketed as a few tears slid down his cheeks. I could count on one hand the number of times I had ever seen Soda cry. There was just something inherently _wrong_ about him being sad.

"They're…" His voice caught. "They're dead."

"Who?" My gut tightened uncomfortably.

"My parents….th-there was a car….a-accident….and they….they didn't…." He began to sob.

I felt like someone had punched me. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were _dead_? It couldn't be! I put my arm around Soda's shoulders to reassure him that I was there for him and let him cry.

I didn't know what else to do......

_________________________________________________________________________________

The first time I was thrown out of my house by my dad, I felt so lost and frightened, though of course I never let it show. But somehow Soda knew and he made sure that I would stay at his house until my dad calmed down.

That first night was so much fun. He made me laugh so hard that, for a moment, I forgot that my own father didn't want me......

______________________________________________________________________________

Gradually my father got worse and one night he beat me up so badly, I could barely walk. I remember staggering into the Curtis' home. Soda had looked so worried.

Because I refused to go to the hospital, he bandaged my wounds himself with many a crack about how he wasn't fit to be a nurse. He turned on the radio extra loud and warbled along to Elvis's "You ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog" while he did a crazy dance around me, getting rubbing alcohol on everything but my injuries.

We mutually decided that Darry was a much better doctor.....

_______________________________________________________________________________

The week after Johnny and Dallas's deaths and Ponyboy's subsequent illness, I dropped by the Curtis' house, painfully aware that my visits would no longer be the same without the whole gang. The place was quiet for Pony's sake, who was still recovering.

I edged further into the house as I tried to locate my friend. Sodapop was messing around in the kitchen, making a chocolate cake. A faint smile crossed my face when I saw the huge mess he had created: flour, sugar, and chocolate were strewn everywhere, along with a few eggshells.

My smile faded the next instant as Soda threw down his spatula and leaned heavily against the counter, head hanging low.

I acted as though I had not seen anything. "Yo, buddy, what's cookin'?"

His head snapped up in alarm until he spotted me. He grinned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh….hi Steve. I'm makin' a cake. You wanna join me?"

"Nah, I ain't no cook. How 'bout you come take a drive with me?" I gestured to the door.

He paused, wiping his hands on a towel and glanced towards Pony's room.

"He'll be fine," I reassured. "It's not like I'm gonna kidnap you or anythin'. Superman would kill me." I threw in the running joke about Darry to see if it would make my friend smile.

It worked.

He laughed. "Ok, but only if you drive the speed limit. Darry _will_ kill us if we get another one of them speedin' tickets."

"It's a deal."

We both headed out the door......

_________________________________________________________________________________

During that car trip, Soda confided in me all of the stress he had been going through. It was much worse than my own experience for, not only did he lose two dear friends, his brother had gotten caught up in it, and that no-good broad Sandy had dumped him.

Soda tried not to let it show how much it had shaken him, but I could tell. This week was catching up with him and he was beginning to crack under the pressure. But he was one of a kind and at the moment, his concern wasn't for himself.

"I'm worried about Pony," he murmured as he gazed out the car window. "He was real close to Johnny and he's taken this awful hard. He zones out on me and won't hardly talk no more. I hope he can get past this."

I tried to be encouraging. "He will, he's a tough kid."

Soda just stared at me as if I was missing something. "He ain't like us, Steve, even _you _can see that. He feels things differently than we do. He's special and he's gonna go far in this world."

_So are you_, I thought. _So are you_.

_________________________________________________________________________________

I kept an eye on Soda in front of me as we dodged bullets, trying to make it to a reasonably large outcropping of rocks for shelter. My friend skidded to a stop and threw himself backwards. His hand caught me on the way and he dragged me down with him just as a grenade went off a few yards in front of us.

He scrambled up just as quickly as he had dropped, tugging me up with him. We sprinted the rest of the way to the rocks and collapsed behind them as we gasped for air.

"That was close," Soda quipped with that devilish grin of his.

"Yeah, give me a warnin' next time, will ya?" I rubbed my skinned elbows.

"Okey dokey!" He grinned. "But now we have to go."

I gave a sharp nod and we both darted out into open after the rest of our platoon. We had almost made it to where our comrades were waiting for us when I heard the gunshot.

Soda gave a slight cry.

I turned back despite the ferocious orders my sergeant was giving. My heart stopped. "SODA!" A scream tore through the air and belatedly I realized that it my own voice.

Sodapop was lying on the ground, his gun a few inches from his limp hands. He was still…too still….

_______________________________________________________________________________

I dragged Soda's body with me behind our shelter, but I knew it was too late. He had lost too much blood. He wasn't breathing. He didn't have a pulse.

In my mind, I knew what that meant, but my heart screamed in denial. Soda wasn't supposed to die. If anyone, it should be me-the one who didn't have a family, the one no one would care was gone. Not Soda. Death wasn't supposed to want my happy-go-lucky friend.

But the battle was over and the truth was hitting hard.

Soda was dead.

And I knew that he had taken a large part of me with him.

This was supposed to be a songfic, but since that is no longer allowed, I took the lyrics out. If you're interested, this fic is based on Skillet's song _Those Nights_. Thanks for reading!


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